


trophy shelf

by ephemeraldt



Category: LOONA (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty Pageants, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, i apologize for any mistakes made about the pageant world, it's not so much angst as it is just a lot of thinking, this takes place in the usa btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23038258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeraldt/pseuds/ephemeraldt
Summary: Heejin wins at the end of the night, and it feels great, because it always does. She thinks Hyunjin is insane, absolutely insane for giving this up. But then she turns around, and they make eye contact, and Heejin doesn’t want to think anymore.(Hyunjin quits beauty pageants. Heejin attempts to deal.)
Relationships: Jeon Heejin/Kim Hyunjin
Comments: 24
Kudos: 216





	trophy shelf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naeildo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naeildo/gifts).



> my dear sam - this was inspired by your style (although it doesn't come close to doing it justice) and i hope you like it!
> 
> disclaimer:  
> this is a fictional story featuring fictional characters loosely inspired by the public personas of real people. if this bothers you, or you/someone you know is mentioned here, please do both of us a favor and read something else.

Things don’t fall apart right off the bat. The day starts out like a normal competition day. Heejin gets excused from school early and her classmates wish her luck as she grabs her duffel from her locker. She takes the bus to the convention center on the other side of the city, follows the signs reading “contestants only” until she finds the dressing rooms. Unsurprisingly, the area is already swarmed with people: contestants and their mothers and personal trainers and instructors and coaches. The air is thick with noise and the scent of hairspray. 

Heejin waves to the people she recognizes before making a beeline for the row of light-up mirrors and plugging in her curling iron. She doesn’t get stares for doing her own hair and makeup anymore. Those stopped coming around the time she placed in states for the third year in a row. 

She’s in the middle of gluing her eyelashes on when Hyunjin’s face appears in the mirror. Hyunjin is already in her gown, so she must have been here a while. Heejin is a little surprised that she doesn’t see Hyunjin’s mother anywhere, because if there’s one thing she’s learned from doing pageants with Hyunjin for six years, it’s that wherever Hyunjin goes, Mrs. Kim isn’t far behind. 

“Hey,” Hyunjin says. “Need any help?”

Heejin presses the inner corner of the eyelash down with her pinky finger. “I think I got it.” 

“Don’t poke your eye out,” Hyunjin says dryly. 

“Please.” Heejin carefully pulls her finger away, blinking a few times to make sure the lash is secure. “I’m a professional.”  
  
“That’s what they’re calling it now?” Hyunjin asks, but there’s no weight to it. They both know Heejin has enough trophies on her bedroom shelf to crush any doubts of her merit. Also, Heejin and Hyunjin joke around all the time. They’re close like that. 

_“Yes.”_ Heejin rummages through her bag, pulls out a hairbrush and a case of bobby pins. “And when I finish getting ready, I’m going to professionally kick your ass.”

“Can’t wait.”

Heejin doesn’t respond. They only have a half an hour before they need to be onstage, so she expects Hyunjin to leave and tend to her own business, for them to catch up later. But Hyunjin continues to hover around Heejin’s station, letting the silence build between them. 

“Is something up?” Heejin asks finally.

“I’m quitting.”

That’s the moment it happens: the moment the day stops being normal and easy-to-navigate. “You’re _what_?”

“I told my Mom that I would only do pageants if I could quit when I turned eighteen. I’m eighteen now, so I’m quitting.” Hyunjin’s tone is so annoyingly casual. Heejin thinks she might panic.

“You can’t quit _,”_ Heejin sputters. _You can’t leave me._

Hyunjin shrugs. “I’m not like you. I wasn’t born for…” She gestures vaguely towards the overcrowded dressing room. “...all this.”

“But you’re _good,”_ Heejin insists. “You’ve placed ahead of me like, a hundred times.”  
  
There’s a small smile tugging at Hyunjin’s lips, and Heejin feels close to hysterical. “Then I guess you won’t have to worry about me anymore.” 

It’s sweltering underneath the overhead lights, but Heejin is used to that by now. She’s used to the sea of critical stares and her cheeks aching from smiling too long.

They’re about halfway through the question segment, and it’s Hyunjin’s turn. The emcee asks her about her role model, and she gives the name of some female basketball player Heejin has never heard of. Hyunjin makes it interesting, though, and when she finishes the crowd erupts with applause. It’s fitting, Heejin thinks, for Hyunjin’s last time doing this.

If Hyunjin could read her mind, she would probably make fun of Heejin for being so sentimental. It’s ironic, somehow, maybe. 

Heejin wins at the end of the night, and it feels great, because it always does. The emcee hands her a trophy, another one to add to her collection, and Heejin thinks Hyunjin is insane, absolutely insane for giving this up. But then she turns around, and they make eye contact, and Heejin doesn’t want to think anymore.

In some ways, Hyunjin was the only real competition Heejin ever had.

She remembers the day they first met like it was yesterday, probably because she thinks about it all the time. She was twelve, fairly new to pageants, and still insecure about competing against girls who used to be on _Toddlers & Tiaras. _ Her eyes landed on a contestant her age she hadn’t seen before while they were sitting around some high school gymnasium, waiting for the competition to start (pageants are a lot of waiting, Heejin had learned). A well-dressed but stern-looking woman was off on a lecture about something, and the girl looked bored out of her mind, but all Heejin could think was that she was _beautiful._

And while she would eventually learn that she was right — Hyunjin _is_ beautiful, in more ways than one, in so many ways — at the time, she could only see as far as skin-deep. And in her short career as a pageant girl, she had learned to spot a potential rival from a mile away. Hyunjin was the only other Korean girl competing, and the two of them stood out in a sea of blonde bouffants. Heejin cringes when she looks back on it, but at the time she wasn’t sure if there was room enough for the both of them. 

So the pageant happened, and Heejin won first place for the second time ever. And it was just a neighborhood event, not Miss Teen USA or anything, but it was still a victory, and victory makes her feel invincible. Like she can do anything. And when Heejin feels like she can do anything, she usually ends up doing something stupid. 

Which is probably how she wound up cornering the girl whose name she’d learned was Hyunjin Kim in the bathroom. 

“Don’t feel _too_ bad,” Heejin had said. “Not everyone can win. Second place is still really good.” 

Hyunjin just stared, completely expressionless, for what felt like ten minutes. And then she turned and left, leaving Heejin alone. 

That Friday night, Heejin was still thinking about it. She was home alone with Haseul, who was technically her “babysitter” even though Heejin had explained to her parents _multiple times_ that she was mature and didn’t need one anymore. Haseul was nice though, and pretty, and Heejin secretly liked hanging out with her, even though it made her feel like a loser. 

“I don’t get why she just _walked away,”_ Heejin groaned, after telling Haseul the whole story. “I was just trying to be nice.”

“Are you sure?” Haseul asked. “Because no offense, but it sounds like you were trying to make her feel bad.”

Immediately, Heejin burst into tears. It really didn’t help her “too grown-up for a babysitter” case, but she didn’t care. Haseul was right. Her pride over her victory had gotten all mixed up with her insecurities, resulting in a messy reaction, like her volcano at the science fair last year. And now this random girl was out there thinking Heejin was a big, mean jerk. 

“You’re right, I was, and now she _hates me,”_ Heejin sobbed, burying her face in the couch cushions. 

“That’s impossible. She doesn’t even know you,” Haseul said. She started to stroke Heejin’s hair, which instantly made Heejin feel calmer. “I’m sure you’ll see her again. And when you do, you can show her the _real_ Heejin Jeon. And don’t worry, I know for a fact no one can hate the real Heejin Jeon.” 

The universe must have been on Heejin's side, because at the very next pageant, she saw Hyunjin standing by the water fountains. She ran up to her immediately; she knew she had to make this right as soon as possible. 

“Hey. I’m really sorry for last time. Second place is really good, but I didn’t have to say it, you know, like that _._ It doesn’t really matter, it’s just one pageant. By the way, I thought it was really cool how you chopped that board in half with your hand for the talent competition. Did it hurt?” By the time Heejin stopped talking, she was almost out of breath. 

Luckily, Hyunjin was smiling. It was a small smile, not a big, glossy pageant smile, and Heejin remembers feeling a little taken-aback by how bright it still managed to be. “It didn’t hurt,” Hyunjin said. 

“Oh, cool!” Heejin exclaimed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the stern-looking woman from the other day, probably Hyunjin’s mother, beckoning Hyunjin over. “Um, good luck today!”

Hyunjin started to walk away, but not before turning to look over her shoulder. “I don’t need it.”

“Fine. Then I hope you lose!” Heejin called. Hyunjin didn’t reply, but Heejin still felt a lot better. She knew, somehow, that they were okay. 

Heejin is always tired the day after competitions, but today feels different. Tired isn’t the right word. ‘Depressed’ might fit better. Usually she’s able to harness energy from a win, but she can’t even bring herself to do that. She wishes she could see Hyunjin, but Hyunjin goes to the private school across the city, instead of public school with Heejin.  
  
She sits with Chaewon and Olivia at lunch, like always. They’re good friends, and great listeners, but Heejin doesn’t feel like talking. Instead, she sadly pokes her meatballs with her fork. 

“Are you okay?” Chaewon asks. “You seem like you’re in a mood.”

“Hyunjin quit pageants.” 

“Good,” Olivia snorts. “Now she can focus on things that actually matter.” 

Heejin is used to snide comments about pageants. She gets them all the time — from Olivia, from her parents, from random people on the street. Normally, she fights back. Retorts with an _actually, pageants look really good on college applications,_ or a _feminism is about empowerment and pageants are empowering to me,_ which has been her go-to response ever since she learned the word “empowering.” But she doesn’t feel up to arguing today. 

“Do you really think she’s better off?” Heejin asks. “She’s so good. Or, she is when she actually tries.” 

Olivia raises her eyebrows as if surprised Heejin is actually engaging with this topic, for once. “You know what I think. Pageants are weird and inherently sexist and everyone who does them is a little crazy, even you. But they make you happy, and that’s not a bad thing. You should do things that make you happy.”

“So you’re saying pageants weren’t making Hyunjin happy,” Heejin says slowly.

“Well, obviously not. She quit, didn’t she?” 

“Yeah,” Heejin says, rolling her meatball to the other side of her plate. “I guess so.” 

The thing is, Heejin always thought her and Hyunjin were on the same page. There were moments when one of the judges would critique something absolutely ridiculous, or a southern belle would act a little too over-the-top, and they would find each other. Lock eyes and share identical hidden smiles as if to say, “we know this is sort of ridiculous, and we don’t care.” 

Heejin never fit in with the other pageant girls, for a number of different reasons, and sometimes she felt like they were only nice to her because she kept beating them. But with Hyunjin, she never had to question whether or not she had a place. It was a feeling of belonging, the kind you don’t realize you’re taking for granted because you never think to question it. The kind where two people just fit.

It’s only been a day, but Heejin isn't sure where she fits anymore. 

The way Hyunjin transitioned from a stranger in Heejin’s mind to a friendly rival and, eventually, an actual friend, happened so quickly Heejin can barely pinpoint when things started to change. What she can pinpoint are memories, and she has a lot of them. It’s been years, after all. 

Like when they were thirteen, and Heejin hadn’t placed in the top five in a while, and she was starting to go crazy looking for ways to improve. She’d resorted to Google, and then WikiHow, and then a website that hadn’t been updated since 2005, and it was there she found the tip that prompted Hyunjin to stare at her like she had not only grown a third head but was also actively trying to make out with it. 

“You’re rubbing Vaseline on your teeth,” Hyunjin said, voice small and horrified. 

“Yeah, do you want some?” Heejin attempted a breezy tone, even though she was aware she looked pretty ridiculous. 

“Why would I want some?”

“It’s to keep you smiling bigger,” Heejin answered. “I read it on the Internet.”

“I’m okay, thanks.”

“Your loss. Literally,” Heejin said, leaning closer to the mirror. 

Then came Mrs. Kim’s voice, loud and clear even amidst the pre-show chaos, calling Hyunijn to come get her makeup done. “Your smile is fine, by the way,” Hyunjin said, shuffling her feet awkwardly. “It’s big enough already." 

Hyunjin ran off before she could see what Heejin did next, which was reach for a napkin and wipe the Vaseline off her teeth. But Heejin smiled so brightly during the competition that she didn’t think anyone would have been able to tell. 

Then there was the time when they were fourteen, and no one else was around, and Heejin looked up to see Hyunjin munching some sort of Starbucks croissant thing. 

“You’re eating bread,” Heejin had stated. She’s pretty sure she didn’t think before saying it, that the words came out purely due to shock. 

Instead of looking ashamed, though, Hyunjin’s face was one of amusement. “Heejin. When was the last time you ate carbs?” 

Heejin crossed her arms. “I eat carbs.” 

“Good carbs, I mean. _Real_ carbs.” 

Heejin didn’t reply, which Hyunjin seemed to take as an answer. “Please have a bite of this.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. It’s delicious.” 

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“With _who?_ No one will know.” Hyunjin waved the roll back and forth, taunting. “You know you want to.” 

“Ugh. Fine. You’re annoying. I hope you don’t get second place today, I hope you don’t even place at all,” Heejin snatched the food from Hyunjin’s hand, taking a massive bite. “God, that’s good,” she mumbled, through a mouthful of crumbs.

“Told you,” Hyunjin said smugly.

The next time they saw each other, Hyunjin gave Heejin a whole chocolate bar and a bag of Doritos. Heejin ate them in the handicap bathroom and only felt a little bit guilty. 

There was also a time they were sixteen. Heejin always played guitar and sang for the talent competition, but this was the first time she was singing an original song. She was nervous, but the risk paid off, because she received one of her highest-ever talent scores. As she was packing up her duffel, the burn of victory still sweet and hot in her chest, Hyunjin approached her. 

“Congratulations on the talent score,” Hyunjin said. “You deserve it.” 

“Thanks, I’m happy.” 

“Have you ever thought about recording that song and uploading it to YouTube or something?” Hyunjin asked. “Or you could post your covers.” 

The suggestion came as a surprise — Heejin only learned guitar for pageants, and even though she loved playing, she never thought she was that good. “Do you think I should?” 

“I’d subscribe,” Hyunjin said. 

“Aw, Hyunjin, I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. I subscribe to a lot of people. I’m very online.”

Heejin rolled her eyes. It was such a _Hyunjin_ thing to say, though, that Heejin couldn’t even bring herself to be annoyed. “Gee, and here I was, convincing myself I actually had talent.” 

“I never said you didn’t,” Hyunjin said. “Good night, Heejin. Congrats again on the win.” 

Heejin never ended up making that YouTube channel, but she came close a number of times. She always wondered if Hyunjin would be a part of it if she did. They could do challenges and collabs and duets, even. New adventures were always more fun when shared with someone. 

Looking back, Heejin’s fondest pageant memories are not the ones where she’s onstage, but the ones that come before and after: the ones she shares with Hyunjin. Her bedroom is full of trophies, but none of them compare. None of them come close. 

Heejin doesn’t mean for it to happen. 

She’s busy, okay. There’s a lot on her plate. She’s a high school senior, with a pile of unfinished college applications on top of her regular homework. There’s a rumor going around that she’s going to have to beat some girl who modeled for Nordstrom in order to qualify for nationals. She agreed to give guitar lessons to the daughter of one of her mother’s church friends twice a week, and she also adopted a chrysanthemum, which requires lots of water and sunlight and attention. So yeah, things slip through the cracks. Maybe, completely by accident, she doesn’t talk to Hyunjin for an entire month. 

She’s pretty sure she doesn’t mean for it to happen. Hyunjin is Heejin’s best friend, and a sacred part of the best friend code is respecting each other’s choices. Their bond goes beyond just pageants. Or at least, that’s what Heejin used to think. 

Truth be told, she’s been agonizing over how to reach out to Hyunjin for a while now. She knows she should be casual; she _wants_ to be casual. Wants to text Hyunjin and have a normal conversation without mentioning pageants even once. But everything in her chest is heavy and annoying and _not casual at all_ and it’s easier to just ignore it. No reason to let it bother both of them.

Then, one afternoon, Heejin gets a call from Hyunjin. In her absence, Heejin had forgotten Hyunjin isn’t one to just ignore things. She’s also not one to _tell you when she’s going to call,_ like a normal twenty-first century young person. 

“Hey,” Heejin says, in her best attempt not to sound awkward. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Why?” Hyunjin’s voice is soft but clear on the other end of the line. “You’re not busy.” 

“I could be busy,” Heejin says indignantly. 

“No, it’s Thursday. Thursday afternoons are your breathing time.” 

Oh, right. Heejin always forgets Hyunjin knows her better than every other person in the world put together. “Touché. What’s up?” 

“Have you been avoiding me?” Hyunjin asks. Heejin sucks in a deep breath, unsure what to say. Fortunately, Hyunjin continues. “Because you haven’t been answering any of my texts and you haven’t even opened my Snapchats, and I know you don’t have a problem with unread notifications but it still feels weird.” Hyunjin sounds genuinely confused, and Heejin feels her bottom lip start to tremble. “Did...did I do something wrong?” 

“I don’t know,” Heejin says, looking down at her lap. “I mean, no, you didn’t. Of course not.” 

“Then what’s going on? Because it’s okay if you need space, but I’d like to know why.” Hyunjin always sounds so reasonable, especially when things get serious, and Heejin hates that she feels like a kid. “Is it because I quit pageants?”

“Maybe,” Heejin says, so quietly she wonders if Hyunjin can even hear. “It’s so, so stupid, but like, I guess...pageants were like, our thing? You know, like how we’d pretend to be rivals but we never really meant it. Maybe you didn’t think about it, but I liked that a lot. I liked having that with you.”

“So are you saying you don’t think we can be friends if I’m not doing pageants?” 

“I don’t know,” Heejin says, before she can think. The other end of the line is suddenly silent, and it occurs to Heejin that she may have just messed up, badly. “Wait, no. I meant- listen. I don’t know if I can do it without you there. Did you hear about the girl who modeled for Nordstrom? Everyone’s like, in love with her.” 

“Everyone’s in love with you, Heejin,” Hyunjin says.  
  
“You know what I mean.”  
  
“I’m serious. You love pageants, and pageants love you. You don’t need me to win them. I mean, it’s not like I ever stood a chance against you.” 

“Why?” Heejin asks. She thinks about what Olivia said at lunch that day. “Because I’m crazy and weird and inherently sexist?”  
  
“What? No,” Hyunjin says. “Because you’re special.” 

It’s not the first time Heejin has been called special. The word has been used to describe her plenty of times, by judges and rival contestants and local papers, even. But nothing breeds insecurity like a beauty pageant, and constantly measuring herself against others has led Heejin to occasionally view herself as a series of quantifiable traits, rather than an individual capable of anything notable, let alone exceptional. She’d never say it out loud, because she has to maintain a pro-pageant image at all times in order to hold on to any sense of dignity, but she can’t believe the sheer number of beautiful girls she knows who hate themselves. Often she feels like it's enough that she doesn’t hate herself most of the time. 

So it’s not the first time Heejin has been called special. But it’s the first time she believes it. 

“Thanks, Hyunjin.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Hyunjin says. She sounds distant, and Heejin wishes she could reach through the phone and pull her close. “Good luck this weekend, I guess.” 

Then Hyunjin hangs up, and Heejin is left feeling...well. Feeling like she learned something, and also like there’s a brand new world of things she doesn’t know. 

There’s a memory Heejin forgets about until much, much later, after Hyunjin had already announced she was quitting. They were fifteen and having a sleepover at Heejin’s house after a Saturday competition. Heejin had placed third, and Hyunjin didn’t place. For some reason, it wasn’t sitting right with Heejin. 

“You were the prettiest girl there tonight,” Heejin said, watching Hyunjin remove her nail polish with a cotton pad. “You’re prettier than me.” 

“Don’t say that,” Hyunjin said.

“Why? It’s an objective fact.”

“It’s not. Beauty is subjective.”

“Not in pageants it’s not,” Heejin said, and Hyunjin can’t seem to argue with that, even though everything about her suddenly-stiff shoulders and furrowed brow says she wants to. “If you tried, it would be so easy for you to beat me every single time.” 

“I don’t care about beating you. I don’t care about any of it.”

“Then why do you even compete?” Heejin asked. She was a little frustrated, because if she doesn’t have real competition, then what did she have? What did all those trophies on her wall even mean?

“My Mom made me, duh,” Hyunjin answered. “Didn’t yours? Isn’t that why everyone does pageants?” 

“Well, not exactly.”

“Don’t tell me-”

“I signed myself up,” Heejin said. “My parents didn’t want me doing it, actually. They still don’t.” She thought she would be good, and she had been right. 

“Heejin Jeon, you are actually insane. You’re lucky I like you.” 

Heejin threw her head back laughing. “I know, right?” 

Heejin’s parents let her borrow the car for the weekend, and as soon as she gets behind the wheel, her mind is made up. She knows where she’s headed. 

When she pulls up to Hyunjin’s house, she sees she won’t even have to ring the doorbell. Hyunjin is standing in the driveway, in sweats and an oversized T-shirt, aiming a basketball at the rusty hoop above the garage. 

“She shoots,” Heejin says in her best announcer-voice, making her presence known. Hyunjin freezes, startled by Heejin’s sudden appearance, but then turns back, aims, and shoots. “And she scores!” Heejin cries, as Hyunjin makes the shot. “Three million points for Hyunjin Kim! And the crowd goes wiiillld.” 

“That’s not how basketball scoring works,” Hyunjin says, bending down to retrieve the ball. “No one’s ever gotten three million points from a single basket. Not even Michael Jordan.” 

“You’re so good they had to write new rules.”

“I’m sorry, but shouldn’t you be getting ready for a beauty pageant right now?” Hyunjin asks. “I mean, this is the qualifying round for nationals _._ Kind of a big deal.” 

“I decided to skip,” Heejin says. Hyunjin drops the basketball. It rolls towards Heejin, and she stops it with her foot. Pretty smooth, if she says so herself. 

“You _what?”_

“I called in sick so I wouldn’t be penalized, but yeah,” Heejin says. “I figured I didn’t have a chance against Nordstrom girl. The judges are obsessed with her.”

“Well, if I were the judge…” Hyunjin starts, but then her voice trails off. Keep talking, Heejin wants to say. Please. But when Hyunjin does, it’s not in the same vein. “I can’t believe you.” 

“It’s just one pageant,” Heejin says. “It’s not like I’m quitting for life. I can always go back when I feel like it. They have pageants for senior citizens now, you know.”

“But you’ve never missed a pageant before.”

“Well, I’ve never had to make a big dramatic gesture before,” Heejin says, throwing her arms out to demonstrate. She wonders how much more direct she can get, here. Maybe she should have brought her guitar, so she could serenade Hyunjin with _I Want to Hold Your Hand._ Maybe she should just ask. 

“I didn’t realize that’s what this was,” Hyunjin says, an amused look on her face. 

“What did you think it was?”

“I don’t know. All you did was show up at my house.” 

“It’s not that, it’s...I skipped the _pageant_ for you,” Heejin says. “Because I think I gave you the wrong impression on the phone the other night. I made it seem like everything was an us problem, when it was actually a me problem.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Because we’re more than pageants. You mean more to me than pageants. That’s how we met, and that’s fine, but I think you're my soulmate, so I'm pretty sure we would have met one way or another. Even if neither of us knew what a pageant was." 

“God, what a world,” Hyunjin says. “Did you just call me your soulmate?” 

“I did. Is that lame?” 

Hyunjin shakes her head, and smiles one of those smiles that could cure cancer. Heejin thinks she could do nothing but stare at it for the rest of her life and be happy. It’s dramatic, but moments like this are like that. 

It’s a brand new memory, and it’s going to be an important one. Heejin just has a feeling. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me on twitter @leeyubln (two Ls)


End file.
